


Fragments

by applecup



Series: A Series Of Choices And Actions [4]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9715565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecup/pseuds/applecup
Summary: Prompt fills from tumblr





	1. [Eirnhaya/Quinn] cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cooking the other person’s favourite food/buying them their favourite food" sw/quinn - anon

There were downsides, Malavai Quinn knew, to his Sith having a lot of time on her hands. When she didn’t disappear into a self-destructive tailspin, she went comfort shopping or spent counter-productive amounts of time with a punching bag - and when that didn’t happen, she _cooked_. 

Having the apartment to herself was another bad sign; Jaesa and her parents had gone to the coast for a few days, taking Vette with them, and he’d had unavoidable appointments in the city during the day. Returning home (realising that he reflexively thought of the apartment as _home_ was an existential crisis he would have to save for another day) to the smell of cooking was- well, he’d returned to worse smells than caramel (burned caramel, for instance), but he know his Sith’s culinary tendencies better than to be reassured by that. 

He found Eirnhaya in the kitchen - from the state of the table he guessed she’d been reading something on her datapad, and possibly planning some further culinary escapade. 

‘I see you’ve been cooking,’ he mused, slightly warily, once they’d greeted each other. 

'I made caramel shortcake,’ she enthused, 'the way you said you liked.’ 

Like was an understatement - Quinn had spent half his childhood in Imperial boarding schools, whose menus had done more to prepare him for the military than the rest of Imperial society combined. Recesses spent at his aunt’s in the city had been a world away from all that, even if he’d spent as much time as humanly possible immersing himself in study and strategy, even as a child. Treats from the bakery were one of the few things that could tempt him away from his books, and even then only for a short time - but it had been comfort food, even then. 

'What’s the occasion?’ he replied, slightly bemused. (Had he forgotten some anniversary? Some celebration? _Kriff_ , had he been supposed to do something?) 

'No occasion,’ Eirn replied, still smiling a little to herself, 'I just wanted to do something nice.’ 

Quinn tried his best not to grimace - succeeded, mostly, though he wasn’t certain what to make of this. 

It wasn’t that Eirn was a _bad_ cook - she wasn’t, even if he’d lost count of the number of times she’d stuck pancakes to the ceiling of the _Pathcarver_ ’s tiny galley (that was a lie: 14, 16 if you included ceilings other than the galley’s, and 17 if you also included walls). But- well, she was Sith, not just of the lightning-and-lightsabers kind, but the red-and-pointy kind, and true to her heritage, had a tolerance for capsaicin that bordered on the ridiculous. He, by contrast - well, he’d have had a preference for milder flavours even if he hadn’t been as close to _ordinary human_ as anyone got with an Imperial heritage. What little Kaasi cuisine she’d added to her repertoire came with 'twists’ she’d collected from across the galaxy; a part of Quinn was always horrified by the things she did to the dishes of his childhood, and it was this part of him that was wary of anything she cooked outside of his supervision. 

('Why would you ruin,’ he’d asked, one time, 'A perfectly acceptable ricecake with all that pepper?’ 

'To make it _taste_ of something,’ she’d grumbled - not _entirely_ seriously, but enough that it still felt a little like an insult) 

'Try some!’ Eirn added, offering him a plate - Force help him, she was _humming_ , a sign of a positive but volatile mood if there ever was one. 

To say that Quinn was apprehensive about this was an understatement. Eirn meant well, but frequently overestimated his ability to handle strong flavours; there was a pleasant aroma in the wake of her adventures, but he knew from bitter experience that scent and taste were not always connected. 

She was watching him, though, like a hawk - probably picking unconsciously through his own unconscious, too, a thought which always unsettled him (one reason among many he tried not to dwell on it). 

_Well, here goes nothing._

For a long moment, he couldn’t stop bracing himself for something overpoweringly strong - sour or spicy - if not in the initial mouthful, then, somehow, in the aftertaste. Caramel shortcake had, until he’d met Eirnhaya Illte, seemed to be one of life’s certainties - but having seen the things she’d done to other Kaasi foods, a quiet dread had settled over him at her proclamation. After a moment, though, he stopped trying to brace himself for overpowering flavours and realised that the shortcake hadn’t fallen apart in his hands, or required a chisel and hammer to break - the caramel hadn’t soaked into a sticky mess, and the chocolate wasn’t soft or sickly. 

He didn’t respond, though, for that long moment, and her face fell. 

'I screwed up somewhere, didn’t I? Uf,’ she grumbled, visibly slumping. 'I’m sorry. I’ve only made caramel once before and I probably overheated it, I always _do_ -’ 

'No,’ he started, though - reaching out with his free hand press a finger to her lips, even if she immediately took that hand in both of hers, 'No, Eihn, it’s-’ 

It wasn’t _quite_ the comfort food of his childhood - she’d used a slightly bitter chocolate, and perhaps a little too much butter, but- really, he was nitpicking. His Sith had made comfort food for him - had made him caramel shortcake from scratch, for no other reason than she _wanted to do something nice_. A _Sith_. _His_ Sith. _Stars, I love this woman._

’-really good,’ he finished, even if he felt like his words weren’t doing it much justice. 

'Really?’ she replied - not quite taking him at his word yet, despite her aptitude with the Force. 

'Really,’ he insisted - his expression melting into a grin, as much because of the thought she’d cared enough to put such effort into him as anything else. 

That, finally, made _her_ grin, too - was a judgement she seemed to accept as genuine, if only because of how spontaneous it was. 'Good,’ she replied, smiling to herself again. 'I’m glad.’ 

'Thank you, Eihn,’ he added, at that - finally remembering his manners, before taking another mouthful of shortcake. 

'It’s fine,’ she insisted, planting a kiss on his cheek. 'Besides,’ she added, smiling naughtily, 'We still have the leftover chocolate, too.’


	2. [Eirnhaya/Quinn] meeting the family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting the Family - SW/Quinn - thebreadthatcausedlesmis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post-Fragmentation, technically mild spoilers but MEH

Introducing Malavai Quinn to her parents had been one thing. A quiet family outing together, some quality time with her parents over good food… her mother misbehaving, of course, but that was par for the course. Introducing him to her extended family was quite another, for numerous reasons. Not that Eirn didn’t love her family - or at least, the parts of it willing to admit she existed. Quite the opposite, in fact, but Malavai- well, he’d never been comfortable in large crowds of strangers, and Eirn doubted that large crowds of strange _Sith_ would improve it any. 

It was part of the reason, though, she’d chosen the way she had; a casual, extended family reunion for the feast of ancestry, a mostly Sith tradition, and one largely used by the noble Houses as an excuse to talk themselves up. Like all things in the Empire, though, it had filtered downwards, with the lesser Sith lines and families - including Eirn’s - having their own traditions. Their attention, though, would not be on _him_ \- not for the most part, anyway, and not in the same way it would have been at a more formal introduction. 

They were back on Ziost, of course - hosted in the grounds of an estate belonging to one of Eirn’s more financially successful distant cousins. Malavai had only gotten more nervous at that thought - a Sith estate, _really_? - until Eirn reminded him pointedly of the complete lack of nobility her family had, or for that matter, wanted. 

Once they were there in person, though, the bolt of terror that went through him when he realised just how many _Sith_ were in the grounds was tangible; there were a few other Forceblinds, and even several other humans, but the majority of those present had red skin, and at least some competence in the Force. 

‘It’s alright,’ she said, offering him a smile. 'If anything, they’ll be judging me, not you.’ 

'That does not,’ he replied, 'Make me feel much better, Eihn.’ If anything, that thought just made him all the more defensive. 

'Just be grateful it’s only father’s side of the family,’ Eirn added, teasing him a little. 'I dread to think of the sort of fuss mother’s side would make.’ She paused, at that, adding, 'Do yourself a favour, though, and don’t bring them up, or all we’ll hear all night is complaining about the way they treated mother.’ 

Malavai, who was just tenser than ever at that, glanced around the crowd - feeling all the more helplessly lost, if his aura was anything to go by. 'They… really care?’ he replied, a little dubiously. 

'My grandmother makes sure of it,’ Eirn replied, sighing. 'Even when I was a kid, before dad was able to retire from the Service, she went out of her way to include mother and me. To make sure we were- that everything was okay. Sith… look after their own. Mostly,’ she finished, frowning a little. 

'Family is important to Sith,’ he said, 'I know. I just hadn’t expected…’ his gaze, at that, flicked back to the crowd. 

'It’s where we come from,’ Eirn replied - the slightly abstract explanation that had never convinced him. 'Where _I_ come from. Where our children will come from,’ she added, reaching for something a little more personal. 

The words _our children_ had a magical effect on him - made that terror evaporate entirely, replacing it with a kind of giddy anticipation. It wasn’t even the thought of the requisite sex, necessarily - more the idea of his legacy, her legacy, _their_ legacy - inarguable evidence of _them_ , forever woven into Imperial history. Into _Sith_ history. 

'Still,’ he replied, nervousness still bubbling through him, 'I’m not really…’ 

'You’re my fiancé,’ Eirn replied, poking him gently. 'That makes you family, or as good as, and it makes your family, family. So- you should probably warn your mother that they’ll be invited, too, next year.’ 

Which did not reassure him in the slightest - the thought of repeats of the event, or - Eirn could only assume - introducing his own family to- well, just to Eirn’s own parents, never mind the rest of the Illte hordes. 

'Come on,’ she said, looping one of her arms around one of his. 'Half an hour. If you need to come out and get some air,’ she added, 'I’ll make an excuse for us. Deal?’ 

He looked at her, for a long moment - studied her, before smiling faintly to himself. 'Very well. Lead on, my lord.’


	3. [Awenyth] a metaphor for hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dystopia - Am imaginary place of total misery. A metaphor for hell - lesabear

Awenyth exhaled through her teeth, letting her irritation hiss on its way out of her - gripped her saber hilts hard enough that the metal would have warped if it had been any weaker. Here, at least, this was not a failing; the Sith demanded she indulge the things the Jedi had tried to train out of her, and their teachings were yet to become the noose that the Jedi’s had begun to feel like.

Her Overseer was a proud, arrogant man - tall, for a red Sith, who slouched lazily in an aura of amused disdain that Awenyth was certain hid deeper, darker layers.

‘Stop,’ she snarled, ‘Calling me a _Jedi_.’ The idea repulsed her every time her thoughts brushed up against it; that she was what she might once have been, that she should repress her anger and let her irritation slide, that she should prevent herself from caring, as though such a thing ever served to make a better guardian (and this, of all her failings, was her biggest one; she cared, perhaps too much, but every time she tried to reflect on this, the thought escaped her - was smothered, chased away by the shadows that ruled this place).

'Then stop behaving like one,’ he purred (and Sith truly _did_ purr), 'And strike me, acolyte.’

She caught her reflection in the chrome of the polished catwalk railings as she moved, though - caught her eyes, once the soft purple of forget-me-nots, the tiny flowers woven shyly into her hair by a Twi'lek who’d blushed a brilliant deep blue when their gazes met - but which burned, now, as red and orange as the fires that had scoured Uphrades. Something in that thought made her pause; brushed up against what-had-been, triggering the same rush of faint revulsion that it always had done, in this place, but leaving behind only uncertainty in its wake-

-and then was gone, evaporating into so much nothingness, drowned out by the creeping darkness that swaddled her even as it swallowed her whole.  



	4. [Eirnhaya/Quinn] Sharing a bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-sexual intimacy meme - sharing a bed, SW/Quinn, for Gerdavonrinnlingen on tumblr

Malavai Quinn wasn’t sure at what point, exactly, he’d ended up with a Lord of the Sith curled up in his arms, the two of them cuddled together (on her bed, in her quarters, a circumstance he’d barely dared to dream about, and it was real and he was wanted there and-)

(He was compromised, utterly and entirely; for all that she should never have commanded his attentions, she did anyway, her defiance in the face of the demands and expectations on her one reason among thousands she entranced him)

That she was dozing all but on him was a blessing and a curse; he couldn’t move, didn’t want to move, even as a part of him was convinced he shouldn’t have been there at all. Still, she’d asked him to stay, and he was loathe to disappoint his lord - particularly in this, as selfish as it was.

‘My lord,’ he started, though - worried, as he said it, that he would say the wrong thing - that he would break the spell, somehow, or cause offence, but- ‘Are you- purring?’

‘Sith purr,’ Eirn murmured, sleepily - before squinting one eye open, smiling at him. It was an amused smiled more than it was anything else; she had her moments of malice, certainly, but this was not one of them. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t know this?’

‘Well- no,’ Quinn admitted - turning a further shade of red, even if it was pure embarrassment, this time. 'I simply- I mean, I was aware,’ he started, 'I simply hadn’t- ever expected to hear it- in person.’

Eirn seemed more sleepily amused than anything, though - she just settled back down, resuming the comfortable position she’d apparently found in his arms. 'In that case, Malavai,’ she murmured, 'You should probably revise your expectations.’

All that really registered, though, was that she’d said his name - not just Quinn or Captain but his honest-to-goodness name - and had, as he’d continued absent-mindedly running his fingers through her hair, resumed her quiet, sleepy, purrs.


	5. [Nisha/Felix] Bubble bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-sexual intimacy meme - sharing a bath & adjusting the other character's nectie/etc for Nisha and Felix, requested by ikarra_lives on tumblr

Warm water - not to hot, not too cool, but maintained at the perfect temperature by a bath large enough for the both of them - a definite bonus of diplomatic quarters they were staying at for the mission, though Nisha hadn’t envisioned having the time to take much advantage of them. Bubble bath that smelled of - oh, those climbing roses on Makeb, the ones she’d admired so before the governor’s building had collapsed in a groundquake - chilled pressé made from local elderberries, and sweet chocolates of the kind she’d loved since she was a child.

‘All of my greatest weaknesses,’ Nisha had sighed - not that she fought against the idea very hard.

'Not all of them,’ Felix countered, taking that as a compliment all the same. 'I’m pretty sure your library wouldn’t fit in here. Even if we got it all on datapads.’

Which made her laugh - for the first time in what felt like far too long. The talks hadn’t been going poorly, per se, just- delicately, given the precarious nature of the situation. Still, an accord had been reached - and Master Kyo, the Jedi’s representative here, had finally succumbed to her husband’s insistence that she needed to take some time out to relax.

'This,’ she murmured, though - happily leaning against him in the bath, letting herself succumb to all the evils of scented bubble bath and processed sugar, 'Is bliss.’

It was, too. His massage found knots of tension in her back and shoulders she’d been neglecting; the Makeb-rose bubbles were accompanied by Makeb roses, smaller than those found on other worlds but just as beautiful and far more rare (the petals stuck to her damp fingers, and she giggled ridiculously when his fingers found the spots of her skin that were still ticklish - not a noise becoming of a Jedi Master in the slightest, not that this stopped either of them).

'Felix,’ she added- stretched out in the bath, flicking stray bubbles from her toes onto his, and catching ones he tried to return with the Force (suspending them in the air, for a moment, before the tension dissipated ad they burst), 'I love you.’

'I know,’ he replied, quietly - smiling, she could hear it; nuzzling her hair gently, pressing kisses to every part of her he could reach. 'I love you too, Sha.’

There was emotion; but with it, there was peace.

–

Dressing for diplomatic events - of the traditional kind, not the lightsaber kind - was far simpler for Jedi than civilians, even if Felix had done a double take the first time she’d absent-mindedly referred to him with that word. He was military, after all, and was more used to thinking of her as a civilian (even if she, in turn, was hardly as unarmed or defenceless as the word tended to imply). Still, even Jedi had formal robes - stiff, severe things that Nisha was certain had never been intended to be worn by anyone who needed to do anything that wasn’t sit equally stiffly in Council for hours on end.

Formal occasions meant formal wear, though, and- well, while Nisha didn’t mind Jedi formal wear, it wasn’t as far removed from her normal dress as Felix’s was from his. Republic dress uniform was as impractical as all dress uniform, and just as enticing, though Nisha had long realised that it wasn’t even the uniform she found so pleasing to the eye, so much as the man who wore it.

'Hold still,’ she insisted, though - adjusting his collar, which despite valiant attempts on his part was refusing to sit correctly.

'It’s alright for you,’ he grumbled, not entirely seriously. 'Jedi robes are robes. I’m almost afraid to breathe too deeply,’ he added - half joking, and then half-wincing as he tried to demonstrate, and ended up regretting it.

'This- thing,’ Nisha replied, smiling a little to herself, 'Has more starch in it than the Temple bakery. Trust me,’ she sighed, 'Formal Jedi robes are not comfortable. There,’ she added, as she finished, taking a step back to admire her work - and her husband, for an entirely shameless moment.

'How do I look? I look ridiculous,’ he sighed, not letting her reply.

'You look wonderful,’ Nisha insisted - he did, though the uniform was incidental. 'Besides,’ she added, 'Being invited to dine with the Ambassador is a great honour in itself.’

'You earned it,’ Felix replied - glancing dubiously at his reflection in the mirror, before looking back to his Jedi. 'The Republic will be wanting you with their diplomatic people full-time, at this rate.’

'You’re part of the reason this is even happening. We earned it,’ Nisha insisted - planting a kiss on his cheek, before taking one of his arms in hers. 'Shall we, Lieutenant?’


	6. [Eirnhaya] Meeting a Jedi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ☼ OC’s First time meeting a Jedi for Eirn, requested by Fancyfade on tumblr

Jedi were things that were largely theoretical to Apprentice Eirnhaya Illte; everything that was-not-Sith, the mythological demons of the Republic who simultaneously hobbled themselves with- how had Baras put it? Their nauseatingly passionless demeanour - and yet threatened everything that the Empire held dear, including its very existence.  


The first time she encountered one - the first time she fought one, the first time she dismissed one out of hand and then subsequently wished she hadn’t - was in Sobrik, an obscenely resolute woman who refused to flinch even in the face of the prospect of Baras’s hospitality. Perhaps she was ignorant of the Sith, or perhaps she was just an idiot; Eirn neither knew nor cared, and it was a thought that disappeared entirely once she’d dragged herself to a medical centre - finally letting her guard drop enough to admit the way her enemy had wounded her during battle, never mind permit treatment. 

The first time she _met_ one, though - came face to face with one, and instead of seeing only _Jedi_ (instead of being seen only as _Sith_ ) saw an actual _person_ \- 

- _we know this is not about us_ \- 

Quinn, of course, was insufferable when he was proven right. He contained his smirk, but it lingered in his aura, and it took all of Eirn’s self-control not to slap the man. (Vette filched his blaster when he wasn’t looking, removing its energy cells - once they were aboard the ship, safely away from Karr’s goons - before returning it to its holster) 

She’d taken a risk, and it had blown up in her face. The gamble had been hers to make; the odds had been poor, but she had the Force on her side, or so she’d thought. 

\- 

‘You _used_ me! You lied, you- you- manipulated me, you-!’ 

The Jedi - the girl - Willsaam - was millimetres away from falling. A crueller, more orthodox Sith than she would have pushed; Baras would have pushed, would have demanded that she push. One reason among thousands that Eirn could never quite understand why, of all of Dreshdae’s students, Tremel had thought _she_ would catch his eye - or that she had, for that matter, succeeded in that mad scheme. 

It wasn’t about them, though, and as she watched Jaesa scream at her broken Master (as she watched the older Jedi rail and curse, matching every one of Jaesa’s accusations with epithets of his own), a part of her couldn’t help but feel a little envious. Not for what was unfolding in front of her, but for what Willsaam had once thought she’d once had - someone she could look up to, someone she didn’t have to fear. 

'Jaesa,’ she started - the Jedi’s name alien in her mouth, but getting everyone’s attention all the same. 'It wasn’t your fault. He was a master manipulator.’ 

Quinn thoroughly disapproved, of course - Eirn was certain that even without the Force, she’d have been able to _taste_ it, but she ignored the man entirely. She’d brought him here precisely because he would disapprove; because he’d write to Baras, if what Vette had reported finding was accurate, bemoaning the fact that his assignment was as effective as she was heretical, and Baras would be trapped between praising her unconventionality or ridding himself of a proven effective operator. It was a dangerous gamble, true, but Eirn was young and brash enough to still believe she could take on such poor odds and walk away.

'What am I supposed to do?’ 

When Jaesa looked at her, her eyes full of angry tears, Eirn didn’t see someone who looked at her and hated; didn’t see someone who looked at her, and saw a people fit only for the history books, a footnote in the history of their foul order. What it was she _did_ see, Eirn could not be certain - for all her openly displayed emotion, Jaesa’s fracturing aura clouded, when prodded, hiding her inner depths as expertly as any Sith. There was no fear, though, no hatred - wariness, perhaps, and anger, and a desperate need for- comfort, and for guidance, and for normality. 

_This is not about us._

'Come with me,’ Eirn replied, after a moment. 'I am required to deliver Master Karr to Lord Baras,’ she added, 'But you-’ 

She’d die or be broken, in Baras’s hands, and Eirn wasn’t certain which fate was worse. To be unmade, or to simply cease to be? 

’-The Jedi are mired in falseness. You must see this. But if you want,’ she continued, 'I could teach you how to be Sith.’ 

In a manner thereof, anyway. 

\- 

It helped, probably, that Baras’s people took Karr away; that Eirn didn’t have to truss the man up in her own cargo bay, as he hurled profanity at her and Jaesa all the while. Vette was even helpful when it came to retrieving Jaesa’s things from her own vessel, a move which surprised Eirn as much as it probably shouldn’t have; Quinn, for all his grumbling, even had all the administrative work lined up for a pending Imperial citizenship application. 

( _Lord Baras may be willing to fast-track the application_ , he began, as if anyone cared, _if we have everything in place by the time we arrive on Kaas_ -) 

Jaesa, once the dust had settled (once they were in hyperspace, and the initial buzz of activity had worn off; once Eirn’s injuries had been attended to by her medic, once Vette had denied flatly appropriating vibroknives belonging to the same) sat in the cargo bay, among her crates - numb, if her aura was any indication, less in the manner of a tightly controlled Jedi and more that of one whose entire world has just fallen apart. It wasn’t a situation that Eirn had much - _any_ \- experience handling, but- 

'You know,’ she said, just taking a seat near the once-Jedi, 'There are much more comfortable seats in the common area.’ 

Jaesa just sniffled, embarrassed; tried to wipe away tears, and to pretend she hadn’t cried them to begin with. 'Sorry,’ she just mumbled, not looking at Eirn but not not-looking at her, either. 

Eirn just offered what she hoped was a supportive smile. 'You don’t need to apologise, Jaesa. You’ve- been though a lot. And- you are not required- I mean,’ she paused, biting back every instinct that told her to speak poorly of the Jedi, and- 'You’ll feel better for- letting it out.’ 

Which didn’t help Jaesa in the slightest; she just sniffled loudly, before trying to steady herself - and failing entirely, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. 

'Thank you,’ Jaesa managed, quietly - despite her tears, despite the fear that swaddled her. 'For- not- killing Master Karr. I-’ 

Not that handing him to Baras was any less of a death sentence, but Eirn supposed that there was some faint chance that Baras might take it into his head to turn the man instead. It was out of her hands, at least; the cowardly way out, sure, but hardly her most heinous cowardice. 

'Your parents are on Kaas,’ Eirn just replied, changing the topic entirely.

She had Quinn keep tabs on them - make sure they were well looked after, and that neither of them had attracted unwarranted attention. There were potential issues, she knew, with having someone of his conflicted loyalties keep her appraised of their status (keep Baras appraised, she assumed, as well), but there was nothing about the man that wasn’t a potential issue; if she was going to keep her enemies close, she might as well put them to work. 

'If you want,’ she added, 'I can take you to them, once we arrive.’ 

Jaesa didn’t quite perk up, at that - but she did look at Eirn with an expression on her face that was very almost hopeful. 'Really?’ 

'Really,’ Eirn repeated, smiling a little. 

Jaesa didn’t reply to that - just threw herself at the Sith in a hug, before bursting into fresh sobs on Eirn’s shoulder; Eirn, every Sith instinct objecting to this quite entirely, immediately tensed - and only relaxed even a little once she was sort-of-certain the younger woman meant her no harm. The hug- the hug, then, was returned, entirely awkwardly, and Eirn wondered to herself just what, exactly, she had let herself in for.


	7. [Anya] A temperamental astromech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ☃ OC acquires a temperamental Astromech - for Arlanya Illte, requested by kylorenedict on tumblr

There was any number of things that Arlanya could have guessed would go wrong, during her- _journey_ , and one of her contacts deciding to send an astromech in their place was one she’d rather hoped to avoid. The fact she was still in Imperial-friendly space didn’t help in the slightest - sure, the Inquisition no longer had jurisdiction here, but the Hutts would be just as happy to hand her over if they thought there were more credits to be had from the Sith than from Anya. 

<Sith = Late. Payment = ready?>

Anya just stared at the droid, cursing whoever had sent it - and herself, for gambling that the lowest bidder wouldn’t fuck her over. It wasn’t even in remotely good condition - looked to be rusting, in places, and had clearly been patched up by some amateur or another numerous times. 

‘I was promised a deal _in person_ ,’ she snapped, not in the mood for being jerked around. There was a lightsaber at her hip that was enough to intimidate most people, even if she barely knew how to use it, but- well, the Force didn’t tend to work on persuading droids to cooperate with her in the way it could with organics. 

<T4 = Dealmaker. Fee = Cost (shipment: T4)+(shipment: Sith). Payment = ready?>

’ _Seriously_?’ 

That was the other thing with droids; no auras to read meant no way to find out if it was telling the truth - not without blindly hoping, and Anya hadn’t stayed alive this long through stupidity. A bit of luck (a _lot_ of luck), some fast talking, not nearly enough preparation and a stolen lightsaber - sure. But not stupidity. 

<T4 = serious. Sith = serious? If Sith != serious, T4 = leave>

‘Sith equals serious,’ Anya grumbled. She hated Binary on the best of days (why couldn’t droids just be programmed with Basic?) and today was _not_ one of those. 'If Sith equals fucked over, T4 equals dead. Got it?’ 

<Sith = insulting. T4 = businessdroid(legitimate). Reputation = vital.>

This was going to be a fun journey, she could already tell. 

\- 

'Why,’ Anya couldn’t help but ask it, some time after the jump to hyperspace (once she was satisfied there probably weren’t any listening devices in the vicinity; once she was resigned to the idea that even if there were, she had until they dropped back into normal space to come to terms with her impending doom), 'Do you even need me?’ 

<T4 = draw attention if (T4 = travel alone). T4 + Sith = people assume (T4 = with Sith).  Sith = draw attention. T4 = unimportant.>

'Oh,’ Anya replied, 'So I’m your decoy, as well as your ticket.’ Great. 

<Sith = correct. T4 = surprised. Species (Sith) = possess (intelligence = low), (violence = high).>

'Keep that up,’ Anya scowled, 'And T4 equals scrap.’ 

(Why did she need this droid, again? Couldn’t they just part ways? Could she just scrap the thing and be done with it?) 

\- 

Stepping off that tub was almost freeing in itself, even if they were still in Hutt space. Ever the slow learner, Anya took a long, deep breath of spaceport air - and immediately regretted it, much to the amusement of the droid. Tittering in Binary, it turned out, was even more irritating than tittering in Sith. 

<Sith != oxygen breather? // Sith = ill?>

'Air equals gross,’ Anya replied, glaring at the droid. It smelled like- every changing room, all at once, with all the poor hygiene and worse ventilation in the galaxy in a single spot. Breathing at all was a bad idea, never mind long, deep breaths, but Anya’s remaining credits were barely enough to get her to this rock’s moon, never mind buy a decent breathing mask. After that- well, Force only knew, and if there was anything she hated, it was leaving her fate in the lap of the Force. 

<Hutta = swamp. Sith = unaware?>

The droid, of course, was full of useful information. 

'I noticed,’ Anya replied, continuing to glower. And then: 'Well, it’s been swell, T4. Try not to rust too much.’ Wait, was that rude? 

<Sith = eager (departure). T4 = have (proposal: travel: T4 + Sith).>

'And why,’ Anya replied, looking at the droid, warily, 'Would I do that?’   


<Sith = leave Imperial space. Sith = carry lightsaber // != use lightsaber. Sith = use (help (T4)). Sith = avoid checkpoints. Conclusion: Sith = flee (Imperial Space, Empire) // Sith ≈ criminal (jurisdiction = Imperial).>

'T4,’ Anya replied, crossing her arms defensively, 'You really ought to  be careful what you accuse people of. Especially in a place like this.’ 

<T4 != accuse. T4 = deduct. T4 = possess (contacts: businessbeings (legitimate)). Sith = work + T4, T4 = assist Sith.>

'Alright,’ she just replied, extremely warily - not reaching for her lightsaber just yet. 'I’m listening.’ 


	8. Quinn - the witching soul of music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oats - the witching soul of music  
> For Quinn + anyone of your choosing - kylorenedict on tumblr

Twelve-year-old Malavai Quinn did not like Memorial Day, for any number of reasons. 

It was the height of the wet season, which meant rain pouring from the heavens, bouncing a little as it hit the paving-stones - thudding against the cool metal walkway supports, before trickling into gutters that drained to the levels below. It meant thunder, which always startled him, even when he knew it was coming; it meant humidity that made his shirt-sleeves stick uncomfortably to his arms and made him actually _miss_ his boarding school uniform. 

Memorial Day, of course, always fell in the wet season, but - for all his aunt’s patriotism - didn’t always coincide with the ability to attend the concerts and parades. Quinn hadn’t been certain about it all, not least because of the crowds. Orderly or no, such a huge gathering of people always made him feel overwhelmed, in the worst possible sort of way - trapped, on all sides. His cousins were no help, either - all of his older ones were either on duty or at school, and his younger one- well, she was the kid sister that Quinn had always been glad his parents had never given him. 

(‘I promised your father,’ his aunt grumbled, 'That you’d see the parades this year, and I meant it.’) 

In truth, it wasn’t the parades that Quinn minded. He’d always rather enjoyed them, for as long as he could remember. The uniform might of the Imperial Guard, the discipline of the marching bands, the orderly cogs of the Imperial military machine - it was inspiring, and awe-inspiring, and Quinn dreamt, some day, of leading such a parade himself - of inspiring that dedication, that order, that discipline, that _might_. 

No, it was the crowds that got to him - the people and the jostling and being glowered at by Sith too minor for their own space but too- _Sith_ to truly exist in Imperial spaces, as though he were somehow personally to blame for their low station - it was other people’s umbrellas and the puddles at the taxi stands and the worry that thunder would rumble far too close and he’d be far too scared in far too public a place for such a humiliation. 

Still, he’d promised - his father had promised, his aunt had promised - and they had standing tickets, somehow, for the main outdoor concert. Which was why he was there, sticking as close to his aunt as he could, trying to attract as little attention as he could - glad for the temporary shelters that had been erected for the rainfall, even as he still somehow managed to end up getting plenty wet anyway. 

The anthem was unmistakeable, of course; Quinn was as patriotic as any good Imperial, and knew the words by heart, at least in Basic. He’d never heard it like this, though - sung in High Sith, accompanied only by the sound of heavy rain and distant thunder. 

He needed to get a better look - _needed_ to, a compulsion that powered through his normal reservation and he took off, ignoring his aunt’s hissed _Malavai!_ and squirming through the crowds, ducking between jostling Imperials until he managed to make his way to the front - to the guardrails, past which lay the centre stage. 

The singer, Darth Zelosa, was still a long way off - far enough away that she was untouchable, unreachable; a beautiful, voluptuous Red Sith woman who wore delicate jewellery on her long, slender tendrils, and whose voice made something in Quinn’s heart _ache_ as she sang. He’d heard the anthem so many times before, but like this- 

(even the sky had fallen quiet, in respect of Zelosa’s perfomance - the rain, for the moment, holding off, almost seemingly on her command-) 

-the whole world fell away, and Malavai stood, utterly entranced not just by the anthem, not just by the Sith, but by even the tiniest of her movements, never mind the music that she sang. He could almost _feel_ it - imagined selfishly, for a moment, that she performed for him alone (and she did, of a sort, her voice the only other thing about the moment he could register)- 

( _We stand prepared, We stand to march_ \- the lyrics played themselves in a quiet part of his mind, and a part of him was suddenly unhappily aware of just how clumsy their Basic version was, compared to the beauty of their Sith cousins) 

When the final note died, the world went silent; Quinn was quite certain even his own heart had paused, that so much as breathing would be an act of such unforgiveable disrespect that the Emperor himself would strike him down - and Zelosa bowed, and the crowd erupted in thunderous applause. 

The sudden outburst of noise shattered the spell, though - made Quinn realise he’d broken his promise, and just as abruptly, disappear back into the crowd. 

\- 

He found his aunt not far from where he’d left her - fussing over his youngest cousin, a girl half Quinn’s age who’d managed to smear chocolate all over her face, and who did not seem repentant about it in the slightest. 

'Malavai! There you are!’ His aunt, of course, was only half paying attention. 'I was about to speak to the Guard. _Honestly._ ’ 

'Sorry, ma'am,’ Quinn mumbled, glancing at his shoes. 'I wanted to- see Darth Zelosa.’ 

His aunt, at that, just smiled a little to herself. 'She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ She paused, and added, 'That’s the power of the Sith for you.’ 

'She’s- amazing,’ Quinn agreed - glancing back towards the stage. Zelosa, though, was already gone - her Guard already filed out, leaving it empty for the next performance. He knew he shouldn’t have been disappointed, but was anyway - even if he tried to keep that disappointment from showing. 

( _But for the Empire’s grace, we rise again-_ ) 

There would always be next year.


	9. [Yamé, Nisha/Felix, Aemilia] impasse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inktober writing meme - 'impasse' for the consular, requested by mademoisellegush on tumblr

impasse  
/ˈæmpɑːs/  
[1851] Borrowing from French _impasse_ , from _in-_ \+ _passer_.

1\. A road with no exit; a cul-de-sac  
2\. A deadlock or stalemate situation in which no progress can be made 

\- 

Yamé knew that she stuck out. 

She was graceless, where Jedi were supposed to move like rivers, tripping over her own feet and walking into doorframes and, on one occasion, falling _up_ half a flight of stairs; worse than that, she loomed, even when she didn’t intend to. A side effect of her height, combined with the musculature that came with saber practice and the horns that came with being Zabrak, and a presence that despite her efforts always seemed to boil down to what other people assumed about her character. 

She even managed to draw attention to herself in the bustle of the Coruscant Senate Tower spaceport - and if there was any one place that she’d hoped to simply be part of a crowd, it was there. Every sentient race, from every known world, coming and going at all hours and in all directions, the air filled with every language (and every fragrant body odour, not that the tourist pamphlets noted that one), and she still managed to be unusual; not because of her species, not even because of her height, but because of the soft, neutral robes she wore and the lightsaber that was tucked away inside of them. 

(the lightsaber was one of many things she was still getting used to the thought of; was still trying not to be terrified of, not least because of how utterly merciless they were when wielded - at all, never mind poorly) 

Still, the glances were only glances, not least because of the heated argument between a customs officer and- a Twi'lek woman, whose aura was full of embarrassed frustration and whose body language was more than a little hostile.

‘Excuse me- Master Jedi-?’ 

Which made her pause - and look around, uncertainly, not least because her instinct was never to assume that she was the one being referred to as _Jedi_. It was another thing that she was still getting used to - at all, never mind in any specific kind of sense. 

The customs officer, though, was looking right at Yamé - or at least, at the fact she was so very visibly _Jedi_. 

‘I’m- not a Master,’ Yamé replied, a little nervously. ‘But if I can, I will try to help. What- seems to be the problem?’ 

‘Officer Danek, Republic Customs. Miss Miri here,’ he added, throwing the Twi'lek a glare, ’ _Claims_ that these aren’t banned Sith artefacts. But without a Force user here to confirm that-’ 

'Miss M'ri,’ the Twi'lek - M'ri, apparently - snapped, 'Hasn’t done _anything_ but be harassed by this _sleemo_ -’ 

The artefacts in question were in an open crate, between the two - had clearly been packaged carefully, and probably transported onworld. Yamé frowned to herself as she examined them, though - they visibly resembled restricted artefacts, but- 

'Strange,’ she murmured - half murmured, her fingers dancing over where their auras should have been, had they truly been Force artefacts. The Force ran through them as much as it did through any other object, but that was just it; it was incidental to them, rather than integral. 'I don’t sense _anything_ from them. Light or Dark.’ 

'They’re fake?! Ugh! I’m gonna kill him,’ M'ri fumed - before pausing abruptly, at the look she was getting from both the customs official and the Jedi. 'I mean, uh. I’ll. Be going now. Then. In that case.’ 

'Oh, no,’ the official replied, ’ _Now_ you’re trying to peddle _fakes_.’ 

'I’m not peddling anything,’ M'ri protested, throwing up her hands in irritation, 'I was just-!’ 

’-Threatening to murder- who, exactly?’ Danek added, less amused the longer this went on. 

'I- should be going,’ Yamé started, regretting entirely having involved herself in the argument. 'I-’ 

'Of course, Master Jedi,’ Danek replied, absent-mindedly, his attention still all on M'ri. 'As for you, Miss-’ 

(’ _Hey_ ,’ M'ri shouted, 'don’t just _walk off!_ Jedi’re supposed to- stick up for the little guy! _Hey!_ ’) 

\- 

'It’s time to face facts, Sha. We’re lost.’ 

Which coming from a man who’d navigated the featureless plains of Hoth was either an insult or compliment, even as Kyo wasn’t sure which - or, for that matter, for who. 

Corellia was a warren at the best of times - a chaotic maze that rivalled only Coruscant in its total lack of urban planning. There were places that it showed the most that the now-mere districts had once been city-states of their own, swelling until their borders ran into each other as the world ran out of space - and this was one of them, an overcrowded corner that had last been accurately mapped about a century ago - and that was assuming that the records themselves were up to date. 

The war, as wars always did, made it worse - collapsing bridges into rubble that blocked underpasses and dammed lakes, and blowing whole new paths through what had once been nothing but permacrete prefabs. That the maps hadn’t, by and large, been updated even before the war just exacerbated this tenfold - had slowed the rebuilding project on its own, and Master Kyo was starting to see the benefits to the local councillor’s pleas for cartographers as much as any other kind of aid. 

'We’re not lost. We’re… navigationally displaced,’ Kyo protested - they were lost, despite the fact that her map told her exactly where they were. 'This- is _supposed_ to be a through road.’ 

Except that it wasn’t, even now that the fires were long put out - and, on further inspection, she wasn’t sure it ever had been. The supposed through-road was surrounded on three sides - and while at least one of those currently comprised mostly rubble, said rubble had once been an extension of the factory whose walls comprised one of the other sides. The faded paintlines on the ground and battered parking metres suggested that if anything, this had once been a popular spot for office workers or visiting civilians to park their speeders, rather than providing any kind of access to the grounds that lay beyond. 

'Uh-huh. Let me see the map, Sha.’ Felix was taking it in his stride, at least, though the fact this was no longer an active battleground likely helped with that. 

'Here,’ she sighed - handing him her datapad, and, while he was looking at it, taking a moment to step away from the speeder and get a better look at the surroundings. There was an overpass, yes, but it went in completely the wrong direction - besides which, she couldn’t for the life of her see where it joined the ground level, and that was even assuming it was navigable- 

'Well,’ Felix added - sounding no more confident than she felt, 'You’re right. This _is_ supposed to be a through road.’ 

-not to mention cleared for use by the transport authority, who’d declared half this sector unsafe for unscheduled travel due to the leaking gas mains that still hadn’t been entirely sealed. Kyo was confident enough that the utilities were on top of things, here, but this was rapidly becoming the only thing she _was_ confident of. 

'No,’ Kyo sighed, 'You’re right. We’re lost.’ 

\- 

'I’m sorry to hear there’s a problem,’ Aemilia sighed - even if she wasn’t surprised in the slightest. 'Is there anything I can do to assist you with it?’ 

'Exchange rate,’ the Rodian sat across from her replied, shrugging amicably. 'Your lightsaber won’t solve that, Jedi. Credits, though…’ 

His name - or at least, his alias - was Grizzt, and his business was- well, whatever brought in the credits. The business he had with Aemilia was a Sith artefact that had been stolen from a private collection on Coruscant - a collection it had been in, if the stories were true, since its once-owner had relieved it from a Sith during the Sack. Such a possession would have been highly illegal, of course - which was why the theft had never been reported, and why this conversation was taking place in one of Nowhere’s booths instead of a Coruscanti auction house. 

'I see,’ Aemilia replied, slowly; contemplated this a moment, before adding, 'I suppose I should admit, that I… suspected that this might be an issue.’ 

She made a show of glancing at Grizzt’s companions, at that - of assessing the threat, and gently coaxed a little more information on them from the Force. Two of the humans were Force-sensitives; trained, but hiding it, just out of reach but there if one knew how to read the echoes. The Gamorrean was bored but attentive, and the Nautolan - cloaked, skulking in the shadows - was _itching_ , apparently, for Aemilia to reach for her lightsaber. 

She didn’t, though, instead reaching for casket at her feet - and just smiled serenely when, half a split second later, every blaster in the room had been drawn. 'May I?’ 

Grizzt glanced around his associates - and back to Aemilia, before shrugging again. 'Try anything funny, Myrric,’ he replied, 'And even you’re space dust.’ 

'I assure you,’ Aemilia replied, picking the casket up and placing it on the table between them, 'That if you attempted that, none of you would leave this station alive.’ 

If nothing else, her brother wouldn’t have appreciated the attempt on her life, and Aemilia could talk down a lot of people hell-bent on payback - but he was not one of them. 

Grizzt and his bodyguards were, Aemilia noted, well trained - well practised, too, though the results of failure in their business gave one ample motivation for success. Outwardly, they showed little reaction - though the Force told another story. The Force-sensitives were immediately on edge - one of them wanted to bolt, and the other only wanted the prize on the table. And the Nautolan- well, the spike of greed that had come from him was something else altogether, though Aemilia was content for that to remain Grizzt’s problem and not hers. 

'A three-hundred-fifty-two,’ she added, gesturing to the bottle in front of her. The Jedi gardens produced more than just fruit and vegetables; more than a handful of Jedi turned their hands to arts and crafts, including those related to alcohol and its enjoyment. Though the Order strongly discouraged partaking of its pleasures, there was money to be made in selling Jedi crafts - with licence, of course, though this was a step Aemilia was currently ignoring. 'I trust this will cover the difference in exchange rates?’ 

Grizzt, after a long moment studying the bottle - after picking it up, gingerly, examining the label and seal before turning his attention back to Aemilia - just snorted, before making some affirmative gesture towards the Gamorrean. 

'Docking bay 12. And your credits better clear, Myrric, or the deal’s off.’ 

'My service droid is already there,’ Aemilia replied, smiling gently. 'But thank you. And a pleasure doing business with you.’


	10. [Anya and Aetrexis] Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'youth', requested by fancyfade on tumblr

‘Mummy! Mummy, look! _Mummy!_ ’ 

Aetrexis was loathe to ignore either of her daughters, even while she was working - proofreading another grant application, not that she expected any of them to be funded (just what were they fighting this war for, anyway, if not their legacy?) - which was why her datapad was pushed back on her desk, looming as the deadline was, and her attention all on Arlanya. 

'What is it, sweetheart-?’ she started - concerned, as much as anything, that something was wrong. 

Anya, though, was beaming - presenting her with a toy, a model warship that one of Irhan’s siblings had given their girls as part of a set that Aetrexis kept finding parts of in all the places in the house that model warships were not supposed to be. But- no, she wasn’t holding it, the four-year-old Sith was- showing off, suspending it between her outstretched hands with the Force, grasping it as clumsily with her power as she would have with her tiny hands. 

Aetrexis, though, just smiled - her quiet, terrified pride in her daughter’s abilities settling in her chest in a way that threatened, every time, to strangle her. 

'Well done, sweetheart,’ Aetrexis replied - even as Anya abruptly dropped the ship, before grabbing at it with one hand as it fell, and stuffing the thumb of her empty other hand into her mouth. 

'Just remember what I told you,’ she added - scooping Anya up onto her lap, at that, warship and all. 

'No Force on people,’ Anya replied, pulling her thumb out of her mouth with an audible _plop_. 'And no Force on stuff that’s not mine.’ 

'Exactly right,’ Aetrexis smiled - hugging her tiny Sith, and wondering just how long those rules would be adhered to. Long enough, she hoped, that when they were inevitably broken, Anya would be able to defend herself against whoever she’d just mortally offended. 

( _Why would anyone_ , a part of her sighed, _ever willingly abandon their children to the Sith?_ )


	11. [Aemilia] Cards and Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cards and Dust, prompted by enbyrevan on tumblr
> 
> cw: alcohol mention

_Perhaps they’re hoping the corruption will finish me off. Or perhaps_ , Aemilia mused to herself, _they just don’t care_. 

Getting clearance to visit Ziost wasn’t hard, if you had GSI credentials - and the presumed desperation to accept contracts that included walking a wound in the Force. If the Empire had realised that she was a Jedi, underneath her environmental suit and academic passes, they’d shown no sign of it. She wasn’t here for the Jedi, though - or even the Republic, but a nagging in the Force itself that had dragged her to the one place in the galaxy devoid of it entirely. 

For what felt like the first time in her life, Aemilia was fumbling around without the Force - fumbling _blind_ , unable to pick out the auras of the rest of her team, the heartbeat that should have been woven through everything on this world and which was more conspicuous in its absence than it would ever have been in life. The nausea that tickled the back of her throat was impossible to ignore, even with the meds - _especially_ with them, somehow. 

‘Hey. Would you look at this.’ Gerrick, one of the other contractors on her team. She’d done a background check on them, of course; she’d made sure there would be no sticky fingers, but that didn’t mean that none of them knew what private paydays looked like. 'Even Imps drink Jedi booze.’ 

The bottle he’d picked up was, like everything here, covered in a fine layer of dust - that had once been something _living_ , Aemilia kept remembering, and it made her ill each time. That there had been few bodies left in the aftermath had been a mystery until an Imperial researcher had realised that dust and ash was all that was left of- not just the people of Ziost, but of everything else - the plants, the animals, the very bacteria in the air. 

The bottle’s label, though, dated it to before the Sack - and Aemilia’s first thought was that it had been a trophy, taken from the Temple or some looted storefront as proof that that the Empire had walked the streets of Coruscant. Even that made her grimace - made her wonder if whoever had taken it had met their end here, too, and if - at that - it was one that even _they_ had not deserved. 

'Put it back,’ she replied, though - setting up the holographer, adjusting the angle to get the best shot of the shattered cantina’s private booth. 'We’re here to document, not-’ 

'Yeah, yeah,’ Gerrick grumbled, putting it back - not quite where it had been, a ring of dust on the table’s surface betraying that, but close enough. It disturbed the dust, of course - and, next to where it had been, the handful of pazaak cards that had been lying next to it - a game that had been interrupted, she could only assume, and would never see any kind of conclusion. 

Gerrick, though, at least had the professionalism to step back once the holographer was set up - and left Aemilia to it, ducking back through the door way they’d come in to take another look at a room already scanned. 

_Identifiable objects_ , she started to tap into her datapad, _One bottle of Coruscanti Temple Brandy, dated 21,390, sealed. Six pazaak cards, loose. One pazaak deck, unpowered. Two shot glasses, one upright, one on its side, both empty-_


	12. [Awenyth] Crimson/Envy/Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crimson/Envy/Blind - requested by mademoisellegush on tumblr

Red - violent, bright, sharply contrasting against its background, a punishment and judgement and warning and release, all at once - _red_ was everywhere, on the Throne. 

(That’s what it was called, what it was referred to - the entire station, not just the chair He occupied, but everything from the docking bays to the air filtration - the Throne, the seat of His power, the proof of His might. The Sith Emperor, ancient and powerful and merciless, a dizzying well of power that a part of Awenyth wished she had the nerve to drink from and a part of her, even now, even here, even after all this, recoiled from.) 

The red of His guard. The red of His Wrath. The red of- could the Emperor bleed, she wondered? Everything else here did, so it stood to reason He must, too, and an ancient thought nagged at her, at that - an idea that she couldn’t focus on except to know that it was there, a sense of having forgotten something vitally important and a complete inability to know anything about it except that without it, she was lost. 

’-Your mind is wandering _again?_ Trust an alien to be so easily distracted-’ 

Her Sith (sith, dark side Force user; sith, descended from the original peoples of Korriban; sith, enemy of the Jedi) Overseer gave no illusions as to his opinion of her - _her_ , an intruder and an alien, an upstart and- 

‘What colour,’ Awenyth interrupted, half ignoring him and half fingering her saber hilts, ‘Do Sith bleed?’ 

That put a dampener on his rant - made him pause, considering her for a moment before replying. 'Do not think to threaten me, acolyte,’ he snapped - 'You may be chosen by the Emperor, but do not think that makes you spec-’ 

She moved too quickly, though - bored of his rants, his insults, his useless lessons, his _him_ , and he gurgled at the red saber blade in his throat, gurgled on the red blood in his lungs, gurgled and - at last - was no more. 

'Huh,’ Awenyth managed, wrinkling her nose, though not out of disgust so much as satisfied curiosity. 

(the answer, of course, was-) 

\- 

Red - violent, bright, sharply contrasting against its background, a punishment and judgement and warning and release, all at once - _red_ was everywhere, on Tython. 

It hid, and flickered, when she least expected it to - in mirrors, in robes, in fruit and jams and skin and hands that had done to much and eyes that slept too little and the pounding in her head, night after night after night after- 

'how do you do it, kira,’ Awenyth half-whispered, hardly able to look at the ~~other~~ Jedi and utterly unable to look away. 

'Breathe,’ Kira replied - red hair framing a face that smiled with red lips, that looked at her with pity and compassion, neither of which she seemed to deserve. 'After that,’ she added, 'Breathe some more. It helps. Honest.’ 

They were out on the Elarian trails, sitting in the sunlight - away from chains and duties, away from judging and judgemental stares, away from everything but green grass and blue sky. It was spring, and the flowers were in full bloom; white and yellow and purple and blue and (red, on occasion, too). 

('we should have known,’ Awenyth started - rambling, mumbling, the words repeating themselves in her head until they buzzed and droned and she had to let them out or they’d have eaten her alive. 'we were so _arrogant_ -’) 

'Honestly,’ Kira replied, 'I don’t think anyone could have known what we were walking into. I mean- even when he was in my head _before_ , it was- _nothing_ compared to what- happened there. He’s- _It’s_ -’ 

Even she was lost, for a long moment; Kira Carsen, who talked and talked and talked and talked, was failed for once by the enormity of- 

Awenyth said nothing, to that - just blinked, blinded by sunlight refracted a thousand times through tears that she wished would stop appearing at all the worst possible moments. At least there were no other witnesses; at least they were alone, the Force excepted, and at least the sunlight was a gentler mistress than- 

(than the Throne’s spotlights. Than Dromund. Than-) 

'But,’ Kira added, shattering the silence, 'We still- got out of there. Alive. And, hey,’ she added, smiling a little, 'We even killed a whole bunch of Sith on the way out. So, you know. I call that a victory.’ 

Awenyth couldn’t make herself smile - couldn’t even pretend she felt the tiniest bit victorious. Another ability that she (admired/coveted) - but Kira cared enough to try, to keep _on_ trying, and it was that which finally made Awenyth’s expression twitch just the tiniest amount. 

'i suppose,’ she murmured, noncommittally. And then: 

( _breathe, awenyth. one breath at a time._ )


End file.
